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My fancy kindled as I gazed ;
But frost had reared the gorgeous Pile
And, while I gazed, with sudden shock
Hast thou seen, with flash incessant,
Such are thoughts !-A wind-swept meadow 5
NEAR THE SPRING OF THE HERMITAGE.
TROUBLED long with warring notions
What avails the kindly shelter
Parching Summer hath no warrant
Thus, dishonouring not her station,
Nor seldom, clad in radiant vest,
The smoothest seas will sometimes prove, 5
The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread,
But Thou art true, incarnate Lord,
I bent before Thy gracious throne,
FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON
ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT-WATER.
IF thou in the dear love of some one Friend Hast been so happy that thou know'st what
thoughts Will sometimes in the happiness of love Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence This quiet spot; and, Stranger! not unmoved 5 Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones, The desolate ruins of St. Herbert's Cell. Here stood his threshold; here was spread the
roof That sheltered him, a self-secluded Man, After long exercise in social cares And offices humane, intent to adore The Deity, with undistracted mind, And meditate on everlasting things, In utter solitude. But he had left A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man loved 15 As his own soul. And, when with eye up
raised To heaven he knelt before the crucifix, While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore Pealed to his orisons, and when he paced Along the beach of this small isle and thought 20 Of his Companion, he would pray that both (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain So prayed he:-as our chronicles report,
Though here the Hermit numbered his last day Far from St. Cuthbert his beloved Friend, 26 Those holy Men both died in the same hour.
ON THE BANKS OF A ROCKY STREAM.
BEHOLD an emblem of our human mind Crowded with thoughts that need a settled
home, Yet, like to eddying balls of foam Within this whirlpool, they each other chase Round and round, and neither find An outlet nor a resting-place! Stranger, if such disquietude be thine, Fall on thy knees and sue for help divine.
After 1845. (?)
SELECTIONS FROM CHAUCER.
THE PRIORESS' TALE.
“Call up him who left half tole
The story of Cambuscan bold.” In the following Poem no further deviation from the
original has been made than was necessary for the fluent reading and instant understanding of the Author : so much, however, is the language altered since Chaucer's time, especially in pronunciation, that much was to be removed, and its place supplied with as little incongruity as possible. The ancient accent has been retained in a few conjunctions, as also and aludy, from a conviction that such sprinklings of antiquity would be admitted, by persons of taste, to have a graceful accordance with the subject. The fierce bigotry of the Prioress forms a fine back-ground for her tender-hearted sympathies with the Mother and Child ; and the mode in which the story is told amply atones for the extravagance of the miracle.
“O LORD, our Lord ! how wondrously,” (quoth
she) • Thy name in this large world is spread